


The One with The Overdone Tropes

by wwwinteriscoming



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: And he watches too much tv, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Honestly Holster is a Dramaqueen™, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8187424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wwwinteriscoming/pseuds/wwwinteriscoming
Summary: "Holster knows, rationally, that throwing his clothes forcefully in the hammer and then in the laundry before slamming the lid shut isn’t going to make his clothes cleaner or make them clean faster. What it is good for however is releasing some of the tension crawling under his skin. Some of the jealousy."
Holster is a dumb boy who's in love with his equally dumb best friend. His life is a sitcom. Lots of tv tropes take place.





	1. The One In Which Holster Pines and Suffers From Unrequited Love

Holster knows, rationally, that throwing his clothes forcefully in the hammer and then in the laundry before slamming the lid shut isn’t going to make his clothes cleaner or make them clean faster. What it is good for however is releasing some of the tension crawling under his skin. Some of the jealousy. Ransom had jumped onto his bed that morning, which was always unfortunate, because Holster’s morning wood gets trapped underneath his blanket and Ransom’s there, sleep rumpled, but with a smile and a little light in his eyes and Holster questions everything.

That’s not true. He just questions both what he did to deserve this torture and what he did to deserve this delight. Ransom’s excitement had made quick work of crushing any lingering traces of a pleasant night’s sleep, when he slyly asked him to otherwise occupy himself from two to four, because he’d be having a visitor. Before filthily winking at him. Honestly, Holster thinks he must have killed babies in a former life. Maybe he pulled an Anakin Skywalker, because here he is, trying desperately not to, but hearing Ransom’s every sigh and moan and harsh intake of breath. He’s too attuned to his best friend not to and he hates that he hates in that moment, because Ransom’s the light of his life and he doesn’t deserve Holster thinking things like this. Holster knows all of this rationally, but Ransom’s the more rational one of the two, always has been. 

He sits cross legged in front of the laundry machine and watches it tumble and tumble and he makes dumb lists in his head to drown it out, but he can’t. He can’t, because whatever list he makes, sooner or later Ransom pops up in it, a memory of him, of something he’d said or done or simply him being there for Holster thinking or saying something.

It’s more than a little frustrating and by the time his laundry’s done and he’s moving his clothes to the dryer, he’s contemplating going for a run. Running as hard as he can and as far away as he can. Envisioning that, combined with the pleasant buzz of the dryer against his back finally, finally grants Holster some piece of mind. 

A little before his clothes are done however, he begins hearing even louder noises. And he knows that noise, because he hears it everyday at least once. It’s the sound of their bunk slamming into a wall. He clenches his jaw and balls his fists. He can do this, he can do this, he can do this. He can be the best friend. Hell, he is the best friend and a damn good one at that, too. He can do this. 

This thought process only seems to wind him up more, so he begins to do the breathing exercise he does with Ransom when he’s in fetal position and needs to be coaxed out. Four seconds intake, hold for seven, exhale for eight. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. 

By the time the dryer pings, he’s at least regained some semblance of control over his breathing, which feels like a petty victory, but a victory nonetheless. When he starts folding clothes, the moans and other noises crescendo and he grits his teeth hard enough that he hears them. That means they’re almost done. And that he’ll be faced with a post-sex, euphoric Ransom. His hands shake too hard to properly fold his clothes. He can’t even get one fucking short folded. He just lifts his hands then and looks at them, like they’re someone else’s. 

“Holster? Can I help you?” Bitty. Of course the resident angel has sensed his distress and has come to save him.

“I.. I don’t know,” He answers at first, too much truth to it and yet not enough, before he clears his throat and says “I’m just.. Really fucked up antsy, so I was going to go for a run, but, like, my clothes also need to be folded, but..” And as he trails off, he lifts his hands, which haven’t stopped trembling.

Bitty takes a careful step into the room and when Holster doesn’t seem to react negatively, he closes the distance between them and hugs him tightly. Holster is more than a little surprised. But he hugs back with all he’s worth, shaking limbs and all.  
“The way I see it is that we both need to sort ourselves out and I do that by baking and cleaning and you do that by working out. So if you just run along now, I will fold your clothes for you, okay?” 

Holster looks at him then, looks closely. He doesn’t notice anything particularly off about Bits. He seems like his sunshine self, but Holster knows appearances can be deceiving.

“You okay?” He asks, because yes, he desperately wants that run, but not as much as he wants for his friend to be fine. Well, preferably more than fine, but at this moment in time, he’d settle for fine himself, so he wouldn’t blame Bitty for feeling the same.

“Yeah, a minor dispute with Jack, but it’s already settled, so I just want to clear my head, y’know?”

Yeah, he does. He does know. So he squeezes Bitty tight for a second longer, thanks him sincerely and shoots in some fresh workout gear.

Holster pushes and pushes and pushes himself during his work out. Until he’s dripping sweat, feeling it make its way down his entire body and he’s heaving, leaning heavily on a tree. He’d been planning to up his work outs ever since he realised during that off season that going pro is a thing he might want to do. He’d had some good conversations about it with Jack in the summer. Awkward, stilted at first: Jack not knowing how to answer, Holster not knowing what to ask. But it’d gone better once Holster started doing the workouts Jack sent him and giving him footage of them and asking him for more, asking him how to be better. 

He regrets not becoming better friends with Jack when he was living in the same house as him and he thinks Jack might feel the same, but he’s glad he has him having his back in this, now. 

He returns long after Ransom usually leaves for his afternoon class and he takes a quick shower before he heads to the kitchen to thank Bitty, because his wonderfully neatly folded clothes had been on his bunk in separate piles. He loves that kid.

“Silly boy, of course! Besides, like I said, you did me a favour by giving me something to do with myself for a bit!” Holster just hugged him tightly.

When he slumped into a seat, Bitty grinned.

“Jack wore you out again?” He teases and Holster puts his head on his arms on the table.

“You have no idea,” He mumbles into his own skin, which causes him to miss Bitty going a deep red and mumbling “I have some, thank you very much,”, too tired to be very aware of his surroundings.

“Anyway,” Bitty said and Holster startles, when he puts a hand on his shoulder, because he hadn’t noticed Bitty moving. 

“I made pie and bought a new can of whipped cream and there’s your favourite beer,” Bitty continued, looking down at him apprehensively, a small smile itching to break out, evidenced by the twitch of the corner of his lips.

“Are you trying to bribe me into talking about my emotions?” Holster gasps, mock hurt clear in his voice as he clutches at his heart dramatically. 

“I have taught you well, young padawan. Besides, every beer is my favourite beer, what are you even on about?” 

When Bitty doesn’t move, Holster reclines and gestures to all of himself. 

“Come on, babe, lay it on me. The food and drinks first, I must be appeased before I go around spilling all my secrets,” He winks at Bitty, but his heart clenches as he realises that he might actually have to say out loud why he was unable to fold his own clothes. Out loud. Using his words. And his voice. 

This shocks him so thoroughly that by the time he snaps out of it, Bitty’s put the food and the drinks in front of him. Holster uncaps the whipped cream and sprays it into his mouth. There, now his voice is at least temporarily unable to betray him.

“So..,” Bitty says, wringing his hands together nervously, his gaze glued to them “I couldn’t help but notice the one similarity between both times I’ve seen you try to murder our laundry machine..,” He looks up at Holster then “And I’m going to give you plausible deniability here that it is, because Ransom was damaging your bunk bed, but I live under you, I know that bed slams into walls every day and..” He seems to not know what to say. Holster tries to swallow the whipped cream without choking.

“I just care about you, Holtz, I don’t want to see you hurting without letting anyone in on it? Have you ever told anyone?” He asks, going for his own pie. It’s chocolate. Which Holster can appreciate. He’s always been one for emotional eating and comfort food. 

He shakes his head silently and goes to grab his own piece of pie, carefully decorating it with whipped cream to avoid Bitty’s sad eyes. The dude’s got an amazing set of doe eyes, nobody can resist him looking all sad.

“I’ve.. I’ve never actually said it out loud,” Holster admitted, voice small, before taking a large bite of pie. There. A little better with chocolate in his system. He envisions the liquid love sliding down his body and flooding the cracks in his heart temporarily and smiled a little.

“Never really felt I could tell anybody, you know? The only person I would have ever really told.. Is him.” And Bitty honest to God tears up at that and before Holster knows it, he’s got an armful of Eric Bittle squeezing him tightly. He won’t lie and say it doesn’t make him feel a little better. 

“You’ve got me now,” Bitty whispers in his ear, before going back to his seat and his pie. “Do you.. Do you want to try saying it?” Bitty says, a small smile on his face.

Holster almost chokes on his bite of pie, but he manages to survive with only some bruises to his dignity and his glasses skewed.

“You don’t have to!” Bitty is quick to amend “But maybe it’s going to make you feel a little better? A little more like a real thing? And then we can go from there?” And now Holster is certain he did no Anakin Skywalker escapades in a past life, because how else would he have earned himself a friend like this? Holster can’t imagine anything being more real than the love he feels for Ransom, but Bits might have a point.

He clears his throat. “I am..” Chokes a little more on air. For fuck’s sake, Birkholtz “in love with the most important person in my life,” He says, because that felt like the easier, the safer option. Bitty cocks an eyebrow at him. Holster sighs and concedes.

“I’m in love with Justin Oluransi,” He says, because that’s the undeniable truth, but still safer than “Ransom”. 

“Oh, honey,” Bitty says and he reaches out to grab Holster’s hand. He squeezes it gently before asking “But why is that a bad thing? Why have you kept that quiet for so long?” He honestly looks like he’s actually confused and Holster laughs a short, bitter laugh.

“Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this, Bits. I was supposed to be his best friend, his rock, from the day we met till the day one of us dies.. Not.. Want more. Not be ungrateful for what he gives me, because he gives me so much of himself.. I’m.. I’m not allowed to ask for everything, just because I want it, now am I?” He tries to say it as matter-of-factly as he can muster, but he can’t hold the sadness, the resentment towards himself out completely and he knows there’s tears in his eyes.

“I’m like.. A fucking pathetic, overdone tv trope. Pining after my best friend, who I’m unrequitedly in love with. That’s all that I’m reducing myself to, that I’m reducing our friendship to, that I’m reducing..” Holster’s voice had been crescendoing again, but he breathes out a quiet “us to,” at the end of his sentence.

There are more tears in Bitty’s eyes than in his own. This is a little weird, but not unexpected, because Bitty cries a lot faster than him and because Bitty is probably too empathic for his own good.

“Okay, forgive me if I’m being intrusive, but.. Are you sure your feelings are unrequited?” Bitty asks gently, his hand squeezing Holster’s again. Holster idly notes that Bitty is really good with comforting touches. “Because, again, forgive me if I’m being intrusive, but before this conversation I didn’t actually know you were into guys in any way? Does Ransom?”

Holster shakes his head a little. “C’mon, Bits, I make, like, the most see through bi jokes all the time. I talk about how hot guys are all the time. That’s not a very straight thing of me to do. I’ve just never really been interested in pursuing another guy since I came here, there were a couple before, because, you know, I had Ransom in my life.. It just took me a while to realize why that meant I didn’t pursue other guys..” Holster explains, a short and embarrassing flashback of his Eureka moment in his childhood bedroom over winter break the year before after waking up from a wet dream in which Ransom had been the lead. He blushes and shakes his head minutely to clear it from those particular memories.

Bitty smiles and shakes his head fondly. “Oh, Holtz.. Maybe Ransom still has to have that realization, too?” And Holster bristles a little at the implication, because Justin Oluransi is a genius, whatever else might be said from him in this conversation.

“Ransom’s way too smart for that, Bits,” He says, affronted, shaking his head.

“Yeah, but he’s not known to be that in touch with his romantic feelings.. Or his romantic prowess when he’s in a relationship, now is he?” Bitty counters. “You said it yourself, he calls March less than I call Jack.” And Bitty blushes adorably at that.

“Which means nothing, because you’re in a long distance relationship with Jack, while March is here on campus with him,” Holster shrugs and watches as Bitty processes his sentence.

“I..” “How..” “Wait a minute..” Bitty shovels half his piece of pie in his mouth, chews it in under ten seconds, waits half a second more and then says “What are you on about?”

“Bits, why did you think I made that dumb comment anyway? Else everybody would have jumped on Rans’ dumb comment. Nobody was going to let prime chirping material on their captain go to waste,” Holster explained.

“I talk to Jack a lot, you know, with the NHL thing,” He elaborates. “And from what I hear from him and what I see and hear from you, it wasn’t that hard to put two and two together,” He smiled. “I’m really happy for you guys.”

Now Bitty was actually crying. Holster could only hope they were tears of joy, but he was pretty positive they were when he had a lap- and armful of Eric Bittle for the second time in this conversation as he sniffled in his ear and hugged him tightly.

“Look who’s the one of you two that’s most attuned to emotions, huh? You’re your own kind of genius, Holtz,” Bitty joked whilst still sniffling. 

Holster smiled at him mildly. He felt a lot lighter, looking at his blond friend and his love sick smile and his hair lighting up from the setting sun behind him.

“Thank you, Bits,” He said, abruptly breaking the nice silence they’d had a moment earlier. They weren’t people for silence anyway.

“Really, thank you. It feels good to have so great a friend in so great a person as you.” And Bitty went red from his forehead to the plunge in his v-neck. This was bait Adam Bi-rkholtz could not resist with the one person he could do it with. “If I didn’t know Jack could snap me in two like a twig still, and if I didn’t need him to get a job next year, I’d wanna see how deep that blush goes,” He said to Bitty while he goofily grinned sexily at him.

Bitty, bless him, went an even darker shade of red. “You like him, don’t pretend you don’t, it doesn’t make you tough,” He giggled in response.

“As if either you or him or anyone on this team would believe it if I tried to play tough,” Holster smirked. 

“Okay, but..” Bitty spoke, clapping his hands and sliding his chair closer to the table. “Back to you,” He continued, looking at Holster pointedly. “We need a plan.”

“We?” Holster blurted.

“Yes, we, you idiot. You didn’t think I was going to be all “Awww, thank you for telling me, I’ll just continue watching your idiot partner be oblivious and you heartbroken for a year longer and send you off”? That’s not the Bittle way and you know it, Birkholtz,” Bitty said sternly, attempting to glare at him.

“Nice that you consider Ransom being oblivious a given,” Holster mumbled skeptically.

“Hush! Now, you were whining about tv tropes earlier, weren’t you?” Bitty winked at him. “How about we counter with another one? We could make him a little jealous,” And another wink.

Holster frowned. “But Jack..” He wasn’t going to ruin two very good friends of his’ relationship for a desperate grab at something improbable.

“We’ll just have to ask him for permission, now won’t we?” Bitty holds out his hand and Holster gingerly takes it, but relaxes when Bitty intertwines their fingers. He’s always liked holding hands, Bitty has nice hands, this is not a situation to stress about.

“It seems like a decent idea to not do that here, however. It’s a miracle my kitchen didn’t get at least one visitor during this conversation,” He whispered, going up on his tip toes to reach Holster’s ear. 

“A miracle indeed, so where are we headed?” Bitty tugged him to the stairs en lieu of answering. 

“My room, my man,” and honestly, Holster might not even be able to keep a straight face through this if it was on. He figured he could giggle all he wanted now.

When they were both sitting cross legged on his bed, Bitty called Jack and spoke with him alone for a couple minutes, reassuring him that everything was fine, that their Skype chat didn’t need to be rescheduled, but that he and Holster needed to have a chat with him.

“Holster? Is everything alright? You seemed so in your report on the workout earlier?” Jack asks and Holster can hear genuine concern in his voice and it’s.. It’s unexpected, but really nice.

“He’s fine, Jack,” Bitty sighs “Don’t you fret,” He said, in an infinitely soft voice Holster felt like an intruder listening to.

“Birkholtz, confirm this for me yourself for a sec, please,” Jack replied, a little smug “Bitty might have killed you or something,” and he chuckles and Holster can’t help, but chuckle along.

“In one piece, Cap. Calves hurt like a bitch after that workout, but they are still attached to my body and my heart’s still beating,” Holster grinned. 

“Actually, it’s about Holster’s heart we need to have a chat, hon,” and Holster might have squealed a little, very quietly at the “hon”, but nobody could really blame him.

Silence from the other end of the line. A sharp elbow poke from Holster to Bitty and a mouthed “Not smooth.”

“I.. Don’t understand?” Jack’s reply eventually came.

“You see, and I’ll spare him from saying it again, because you’re only the second person ever hearing of this, Holster is..” Bitty looks at Holster for a second for approval and Holster nods.

“Holster is in love with Ransom.” “Oh,” “Chyeah,” Holster responded, lacking actual words to respond with. “Congratulations?” Awkward silence. “Are not in order and will never be according to me, will be someday according to Bitty,” Holster countered. 

“You see, darling, our dear Holster came to me and he said he’d only realised his own feelings after remarking that he hadn’t tried to pursue romantic relationships with guys at Samwell.. Because the guy he wanted one with was already there.. Does this sound familiar to you?” Bitty smiled, private and fond.

“Yeah, yeah, in fact, my track record’s even worse, considering I was officially an alumnus by the time I myself realised,” He chuckled.

“But.. Why are you telling me this? Do I need to.. Talk to Ransom?” Jack’s voice is an odd mixture of resignation and anxiousness.

“Oh, no, dear, no, no!” Bitty is quick to reassure.

“But.. I was thinking that maybe I could help him out? If I pretended to date him for a bit, maybe Ransom will get jealous enough to see his own feelings?” Bitty offers, hesitant.

Jack’s silent for a couple of seconds, before he says. “Right, you don’t see me nodding. I’m sorry. Yes, please, help them out in any way you can, Bits. If.. If I’d seen you with somebody else last year, that might have done me some good, yeah. And I’d grant you all the possible time together at Samwell still, Holster,” Jack says. Holster releases a breath he didn’t quite realize he was holding. Bitty smiles at him encouragingly and grabs his hand again.

“Thank you, Jack. I.. Thank you. As I was telling Bitty earlier, I’m glad two of my friends have found such wonderful people to be with in each other,” Holster responds. Bitty’s tearing up again and Jack’s clearing his throat, so he might be, too.

“I.. Thank you, Adam. I hope it works out for you. Sleep enough tonight and stretch those calves. Bits, I’ll catch you tonight?” Holster’s marvelling at how fast Jack switches from heartfelt to hockey coach to heartfelt as Bitty murmurs something sickeningly sweet and affirmative before ending the call.

Holster looks down at their intertwined hands then, unsure. 

“So.. How do you want to, like, do this?” Bitty only smirked at him.

“Tag along, handsome. Now that I have a disinfected chair, we can watch some Dance Moms or something on the tv downstairs instead of on a laptop, because I can sit on you,” He sing singed, while descending. He made a fair point, so Holster conceded.

Whenever Holster had so far encountered this trope, he’d always thought it must be uncomfortable. Faking a relationship. But it wasn’t. Bitty was on his lap, curled into his chest, his arms snugly around Holster’s waist and Holster’s one hand was resting on his hip and the other was absently stroking his hair. It was good, comfortable. He could only hope Bitty felt so, too.

After a couple of episodes of Abby yelling, they drifted off, curling even further into each other as they fell asleep. Holster had had the presence of mind, in his last few moments of consciousness to put himself under Bitty, so he wouldn’t wake up, lying on the green couch. He might lose this arrangement then, he was fully aware.


	2. The One in Which Ransom Is Totally (Not) Jealous

When Ransom opens the front door, he can hear that horrible Abby woman yelling at her tiny child dancers, but he doesn’t hear Holster mimicking her or one of the moms. Or Bitty’s giggling. Because Holster watches Dance Moms with Bitty, had never even tried it with Ransom. Not that that would have mattered, Ransom concedes. Abby and her entire thing just rub him the wrong way. He is glad for his best bro that he’s found someone that likes it as much as he does. He realises he’s been having that conversation with himself, standing on the porch and it startles him into action. 

He opens the door, expecting Bitty in the kitchen and Holster somewhere else, because he isn’t in front of the tv, the sheer lack of noise had confirmed that.

Except he is. In front of the tv. Fast asleep, with Bitty curled into him. Bitty’s hand in his. Holster’s hand in Bitty’s hair. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, but he’s suddenly aware of how dry his throat feels, so he shakes his head and heads to the kitchen for a glass of water. Once he’s downed a large glass, he’s still a little shaken. He decides to just chalk it up to being overhyped today and then class and then expecting to return to normal things, to things he knows how to react to and predict. Well, that is, until Holster and Bitty decided to go and cuddle or some shit. In the afternoon. On the couch Bitty’s sworn not to touch. On his best friend’s chest.

Ransom decides there must be some explanation to this he’ll receive later. For now, he’ll go upstairs to his bed and do his readings, while basking in memories of less confusing and more pleasing times today. Except whenever he tries to conjure images of March, he remembers Holster and how he’d gone from adorably rumpled to wide awake and leaving this morning and how he isn’t in the room with him and how it upset his balance. He likes doing his readings where Holster does his afternoon nap. Prefers doing them while Holster is doing his nap next to him, in fact, touching him in any small way. That’s how he’s grounded enough to do what needs to be done. 

For the sake of his education, he goes back downstairs. He takes in the sight from the doorway. Not much has changed since he’d first seen them, except.. Except that Bitty is waking up, fuck fuck fuck. His brain functions short circuits just long enough for Bitty to carefully, tenderly extricate himself from Holster without waking or hurting him, even touching the couch to do so. 

And then Bitty is standing and looking at him and blushing a deep red. What. On. Earth. Ransom’s brain is tired.

“Hi?” He offers Bitty, who only goes redder. “What.. the fuck.. is happening?” Ransom says, slowly working his way through acknowledging the situation at all. Confrontation isn’t his favourite kind of conflict resolution. Not direct anyway. He likes conflict solving. He likes to think a situation through, then counter. He hates this, hates it passionately. 

“I..,” Bitty says and then he stands there, gawping like a fish and like he’s scared of Ransom and he looks back at Holster, who’s snuggling his face into the couch, like a cat, because it’s something he does. Ransom doesn’t have time to find his best friend adorable right now. Bitty smiles a really soft smile at Holster, then straightens his shoulders, lifts his chin, visibly steeling himself.

“Holster and I are dating,” he says simply. “I’m gonna bake now, he’s completely worn himself out with Jack’s crazy workout earlier, so I think he’d appreciate it if you didn’t wake him up on purpose. Hell, I’d appreciate it,” Bitty says primly, before walking of with more sway to his hips than Ransom had ever seen without any alcohol or dance music.

He still isn’t positive he hasn’t been dreaming the past half hour of his life. That maybe if he goes outside again and thinks of Dance Moms making noise, he’s just gonna.. Hear Holster making accompanying noise and Bitty would be in the kitchen and they’d be happily existing in their own spaces. Not.. Dating. 

Ransom sits down leaning on the couch, because his head is a lot quieter already now that he feels Holster’s warmth and Holster must feel his warmth, too, because he uncurls and curls up again in his direction. That’s Holster. Not napping with Bitty. Not dating Bitty and having Bitty tell him, Ransom, Holster’s best friend and self proclaimed Expert At All Things Adam Birkholtz, what not and what to do to him. He racks his brain trying to fish out any hints over the past three years that Holster likes boys at all and comes up blank. Tries to filter any and all interactions he’s seen Bitty and he have and tries to find anything even remotely flirty in them. He can’t.

The only possible logical conclusions he has left are that Holster, his best friend in the whole world, his rock, the person who takes one look at him and knows what he’s thinking, has been lying to him for three years about his sexuality and anything between one day and two years about his feelings for and/or relationship with Bitty. Or his brain is failing him. He doesn’t know which one is scarier. 

It makes an anger, hot and wild and more intense than anything he’d expected himself capable of, uncurl in his stomach. He looks over his shoulder at Holster, curled into a ball as he always sleeps, his stupid hand under his cheek and his glasses askew. Sighing, Ransom extracts the glasses from his best friend’s nose, folds them carefully and places them on the arm of the couch, where Holster is sure to wildly reach out to when he wakes up and can’t see shit. The familiarity of the gesture, the image of Holster so peaceful, had temporarily lessened the anger, so it hits him just as hard for a second time when he turns himself around again. 

Holster’s messing with his ability to think logically, he thinks, even more angered than he was before. He can’t go to the kitchen, because Bitty’s there. He can’t go to the attic, because Holster is everywhere there. He debates going to the library, but there’s very little appeal in it without company. He decides on swinging by anyway, there’s bound to be a couple of his pre med peers. Which are better for his grades than the blond idiot breathing into his neck anyway. 

He stands up and Holster whines a little. Ransom huffs. Holster blinks himself awake, slowly, carefully, squinting at Ransom until his eyes are little more than slits of blue. He extends his arm and feels around, exactly as Ransom had predicted and his face lights up when he hits his target. Shoving his glasses onto his face, he glares at Ransom the second Ransom knows his world comes into focus again. Which would be more intimidating if he wasn’t curled up, like a baby on a couch and had his glasses at a 45 degrees angle jammed onto his nose. Sometimes people ask Holster why he doesn’t go for a more fashionable frame and Ransom always wishes he could present them with a dia show of every single torture Holster subjects his glasses to to make them see that anything better looking simply wouldn’t survive.

“Where are you going?” Holster mumbles after a bit. “The library,” Ransom replies curtly, his readings tucked under his arm. “But you like doing your readings, while I nap,” Holster pouts.  
“Why would I even enjoy that?” Ransom fires back, his words short and far too cruel for Holster in this state, for Holster in any state, but the overwhelming fire of his anger spurs him on. 

“You told me so,” Holster replies, voice carefully constructed neutral, which is the worst Holster voice, because it means he’s hurt and has decided not to show Ransom. The anger seems to purr. Look at this best friend of yours, doesn’t share anything with you, it seems to tell him. Ransom glares at him, because he can’t exactly counter that, because it’s fucking true. Damn him.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m being a good bro and giving you some time with your boyfriend, eh?” And it could have been a thing they’d say to each other, if not for the foreign feeling of “boyfriend” on his tongue, the vicious tone with which he throws it at Holster and the way Holster looks down dejectedly, keeps himself from flinching at his outburst. 

Ransom huffs again, as indignant as he can muster, and turns his back on Holster before he can change his mind.

Studying sets him at ease. Always has, probably always will. The logic of it all, everything clicking into each other, connecting in the jigsaw puzzle of knowledge he’s building that’s connected to many others in his head with the finest of threads. One of the key contributors for any negative emotion is not understanding something for Ransom. Which is why, no matter how many practice quizzes he makes or readings he does, he’s still restless. He feels an almost physical pull to the Haus, to Holster. To give him a piece of his mind. He tries to resist, he really does, but even the strongest minds cave from time to time. 

He’s only just started walking when he hears a shout. 

“Hey!” Ransom looks around, slightly bewildered. There doesn’t seem to be anybody else that can be for, but he doesn’t recognise the person who’s resorted to jogging towards him.  
 Slightly panting- definitely not an athlete, this one- he smiles at him. “Glad I caught you! You’re the one who’s, like, attached to Birkholtz’s hip usually, yeah?” And Ransom nods, tries and fails to keep his blood from boiling a little more at the mention of his best friend. The stranger nods, more to himself than to Ransom. 

“We’re, like, sorta worried about him? Dude’s happy as fuck usually, during, like 11 am Econ classes even, which is weird, like, fucking whistling and singing all the time, but he’s been really down lately and.. Well, we didn’t wanna pry, but I just..” He scratches the back of his neck. Ransom is torn between giving in to the urge to punch this guy, which has manifested somewhere around him gushing about Holster’s usually happy demeanour with a small smile on his face and shaking him to help him get on with it. He doesn’t want to be talking about Holster, he wants to be talking to Holster, get this anger out. The need to do that is quickly trumped by the need to set this guy straight, because he’d defend Holster first always.

“We know your team is, like, crazy tight, but we really, really care about him, too, and we just.. Wanted to check if there was something in particular? Or that he’s just a bit down, then we can amp the intensity on the usual stuff we do to get him a little more upbeat again?,” and the small smile is there again and honestly. If Holster is upset, then Ransom will be the only one amping the intensity of anything. Seething, Ransom unclenches his jaw long enough to spit some venom at the guy.

“Holster is a real fucking person, he’s not happy all the fucking time, he’s bound to have his moments, too, dude, like, he’s not a one dimensional fictional character or something for fuck’s sake! And there’s nothing you should or can do to “fix” him, just give him some time. Just lay off a little maybe.” The guy looks a little taken aback, his mouth dropping open in shock and his eyebrows furrowing. He holds his hands up in surrender, mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “Who needs to lay off huh?” and turns to go. 

Ransom is still itching for a fight and dread pools low, because for the second time that day, somebody has gone out of their way to tell him something about Holster, as if they know him better than he does. As if. 

Holster, of course, can be found in the kitchen, listening to Bitty prattle on about one thing or another, humming affirmatively and disbelievingly at all the right places with a textbook spread out in front of him. He spares a moment to thank Jack for convincing Holster that to balance all the extra working out and hockey, he’d have to work harder for his classes, too. He spares another to think that there’s nothing particularly romantic about the scene, he’s been in Holster’s position countless times before- all the guys have. The last moment he grants himself before walking in, which might turn into more than just a moment, is dedicated to noting that Holster indeed.. Looks sad. 

It’s not in anything obvious, but Ransom knows what to look for. He’s holding his pen too loose, not in the correct position. Holster’s very aware of that, because his fingers hurt after writing long and they hurt less when he holds his pen correctly. Ransom’s fingers itch to adjust the grip. His eyes are also a little glassy, unfocused in the way they otherwise only go when he’s stoned or drunk and even then there’s a light in them that’s missing now. And then there’s the thing Ransom hates the most: the way Holster’s lips are usually turned up the slightest bit and now they’re a hard line, like he’s forcing them to keep from sagging. He looks from Holster to Bitty and back and stays at Bitty, because this guy is dating his best friend and he’s obviously sad and he doesn’t even seem to notice? 

He clears his throat and both Holster and Bitty turn eerily in sync to look at him. Bitty smiles, Holster looks at him like a deer caught in head lights. From his peripheral vision, he sees Bitty mouth something at Holster, but Holster’s looking at him instead of at Bitty. He takes a step into the room, before he realises he doesn’t actually have a game plan for talking to Holster. There’s too much anger to just dive into it. He turns on his heel and walks out and upstairs and tries not to think about how he caught a glimpse of Holster’s face really falling at the edge of his vision.

Dinner’s a tense affair, because Ransom knows he radiates anger and iciness, both of which are rarely associated with him. He notices the guys looking at him apprehensively, exchanging glances and looking at Holster. Looking at Holster is something he’s trying to avoid himself, because he looks undeniably sad now, sad enough for not only him to pick up on it. Bitty’s next to him, curled around him as if he’s going to protect him from whatever’s making him sad. When a fleeting thought crosses his mind that it might be him, the reason Holster’s this sad, he bends a fork. Somebody extracts it from his death grip, bends it back and places it in his balled fist again. He thinks he mumbles a thanks, but he’s not sure, because Holster’s leaving. Hands linked with Bitty, half his lasagna left on his plate. Which is dumb, because Holster loves lasagna. Rarely settles for less than three plates. Holster’s never not hungry. Unless.. Unless he’s really upset about something. 

The only dynamic he knows of that rivals Holster and him’s is April and March’s, so he lets his lasagna be in favour of seeking out his girlfriend. It had tasted like cardboard tonight anyway, every bite like a brick in his stomach. He meets her at her dorm and they settle onto her bed, cross legged and facing each other. She squeezes his hand and he kind of wants to cry. All of the emotions today and here’s someone who’s supportive.

He tells her about how he’d never thought Holster liked any guys, how he’d never seen him with a guy before and March pats his biceps a little patronisingly.

“Yeah, but it’s not because he hasn’t acted on it that it hasn’t been there? Haven’t there been comments or something? I doubt Adam would keep something like that from you? He probably thought he was being really obvious and you’d caught on already,” She says. Ransom considers it, goes through interactions with Holster with this new filter and..

“Holy shit, I’m such an asshole,” He breathes, because he’s been acting like a dick all day, because he thought his best friend had been lying to him for years, while he actually hadn’t been listening to his best friend properly for years.

“Okay, I can see that you’re overwhelmed,” March says, taking both his hands in hers and squeezing gently again. “But I’ve got other news to break to you, too,” She continues and her face falls a little. Ransom is dimly aware of the fact that this is his girlfriend and that he should listen to what she has to say, but his mind is still very much reeling with the new information and stuck on the part of the conversation where he was proven worst best friend of the year.

“I.. Uhm.. What’s happening to you now happened to me last week.. April, who’d always gone on double dates with me, had never complained, but had never gone on second dates..” Ransom nods at that, remembers their first date with Holster and April and how Holster had thought April was cool, but definitely not interested in him like that. “And it turns out, she’s been, uhm.. Into girls this whole time,” March continues and wow, Ransom’s brain was not equipped for these kinds of conversations, he thinks as a dim ache starts throbbing near his temple.

“And, well, I just.. Started seeing her in a different light? And I’m kind of really, really, really in love with her?”

Ransom realises pulling his hands back is a dick move and that his eyes falling out of their sockets is not only very unattractive, but probably also comes across as rude and potentially lesbophobic.

“I.. I’m sorry.. This is.. A lot,” He stutters, trying to find words that don’t seem to be in his repertoire at the moment.

“It’s okay,” He tries, a small smile, before he squeezes March’s hands one last time.

“I hope you’ll be very happy together and I hope to see you both around the Haus again.. Just.. Maybe not immediately?” He asks, wincing a little, but March only smiles back at him. 

There are tears in her eyes and tears in his, too, but it’s good. His heart is a lot less broken than he’d expected it to be.

“I really am in love with you, Justin, but my love for her eclipses that by.. A lot. And I think you have a love that eclipses yours for me, too, don’t you?” 

And unbidden images of blond tousled hair come to mind, a comforting presence next to him in bed, soft voice and crouched next to whichever piece of furniture he’s curled up under. Sunlight glinting off dumb, old, crooked glasses, but doing nothing to mask the clarity of the blue eyes behind them. His tiny, happy smile.

He shakes himself, nods at March and hugs her long and deep. He doesn’t head back to the Haus though, opts for a walk to make absolute sense of his feelings before facing Holster again. He walks around aimlessly and tells himself Holster won’t be too mad once he explains.. Until he realises that that would be a very dickish move of him, because his best friend is dating. Is in a relationship. It’d be unfair of him to swoop in and deny his best friend and Bitty, who’s also his friend despite him not having had much positive feelings towards him the past day, their chance at a good relationship. 

He does realise that Holster is it for him. He hates himself for not seeing it before. Holster is the one who knows his ins and outs and he knows Holster’s. It’s so logical and he’s never seen it before. Has always been looking for what’s ahead of him, who’s still out there, but has never taken the time to look beside him. Justin Oluransi, science major, did not look at all his options before weighing them and making a decision. What a joke.

By the time he’s properly hyped himself for an apology to Holster without any love confessions before falling back into their RansomandHolster routine, which he kind of needs, because it’s the back bone of his life, he decides to go home. When he comes to the attic, he’s wringing his hands and there’s a thin layer of sweat everywhere, because holy shit, this is the first time he’s going to see Holster, while knowing he’s head over heels in love with him. And he’s going to use that moment to apologise to him, but not to tell him how in love he is with him. What is he doing? He can’t do this. 

He does a moment or two of breathing exercise, before deciding to grab the bull by the horns and opening the door. To reveal an empty and dark attic. Huh. He seats himself on Holster’s bunk and thinks of where Holster could be right now. There are no parties tonight. They may have afternoon practice, but Holster has morning classes and with his newly acquired focus for both, he’s not likely to be out. He’s about to text him, when he hears his unmistakable and loud laugh booming from a floor below. From Bitty’s room. His blood freezes and he debates straining his ears to hear something or stuffing his ears to hear nothing.

He lays back in Holster’s bed, takes a deep breath and allows himself to find the smell comforting. Listens to the low murmur Holster’s voice can be heard as. While he feels his heart rate stabilise he realises he needs to apologise before his next day begins, because he can’t be that put off another entire day, thinks it might be his undoing. 

When he finds the resolve to push his face out of the pillow and to survey the room, he finds Holster hasn’t prepared his bag for the following day yet. Which doesn’t surprise him, but also means he can’t avoid Ransom in the morning if Ransom plays it well despite their practice being in the afternoon.

Ransom packs his bag for him and tries not to do things as borderline creepy and weird as stroke Holster’s handwriting lovingly, but he’s only a tired, sad twenty two year old who’s just realised the extent of their love for their best friend, whilst said object of affections is very much taken. So he might stroke it a little. Might smile fondly at notes exchanged by them in the library tucked into his textbooks. He feels very much like a mom when he closes the back pack and like an idiot when he cuddles it to his chest, settling on Holster’s bed.

Because Holster’s stealth mode is pretty unimpressive, he’s sure that he won’t be able to extricate the backpack without him noticing, but Ransom thinks Bitty’s might be the opposite, so he uses one of his favourite post its, the ones he saves for special occasions, which Holster knows, to scribble a “I’m so so so sorry for being a dickwad yesterday. Best bros?” He has to prevent himself from adding an “I love you.” because it’s not like they don’t say that to each other, but he thinks his heart wouldn’t be able to take the casual air of Holster’s response.

He drifts off with a promise to himself to aggressively act like the best friend ever when Holster’s response is affirmative, drinking in Holster’s scent, comforted by the back pack with its uncomfortable lines and edges.

He wakes to a choked off “Bro,” and despite his sleepiness, he clearly hears the fondness. He smiles lazily, abandoning the back pack and lazily reaching out to his best friend. Holster responds with a low chuckle, before fitting himself perfectly in his outstretched arms. He only has a second to register the sudden onslaught of Holster’s smell, stronger than the one lingering in his bed and the strong arms squeezing him tightly and the warmth and firmness of the chest he’s pushed up against, before Holster’s letting go, mumbling about making it to class. Ransom mumbles something back about seeing him later.

And he does. They have lunch together to go over practice and it’s the easiest and most difficult thing Ransom’s ever done. Holster throws himself in the seat next to him, thighs and knees knocking together and Ransom’s breath catches. Holster nudges his shoulder and Ransom feels the phantom press of it during their entire conversation.

They’re RansomandHolster again in the blink of an eye. He stops Holster’s flailing hands from knocking his glasses of his head four times, Holster sings five show tunes to make a point and they’ve got a ruthless practice planned that’s going to work magic on the team. 

If Ransom finds himself idly stroking the former places of contact with Holster during the rest of his day, that’s only for him to know. If his gaze lingers on beautiful back and shoulder muscles when they’re getting ready and if he comes to the conclusion that he’s never appreciated how the atmosphere in Faber makes his best friend’s icy blue eyes pop, then that’s only for him to know.

The small supportive gestures passed between Holster and Bitty make his heart clench, but he sees the squeezed hands and the soft hugs as something that’s making his best friend happy and it’s better. He still wishes it was him, but he can acknowledge a good thing when he sees one. So Ransom stays quiet and determinedly tries to descend in the ranking for worst best friend of the year by doing everything he can think of for his best friend. They’re good together. It’s easy. It’s as natural as breathing, even though now sometimes his breath gets caught in his chest, because Holster takes his breath away or because it feels like a punch to the gut to see him with Bitty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Hi there.. Uhm, I can't promise biweekly, but this chapter wrote itself, so..
> 
> b) Let me know if you liked it (and why)
> 
> c) Have a nice day!


	3. The One in Which Holster Thinks His Plan Backfired

“Bits, my man, I appreciate your devotion to the cause, but it’s, like, pretty useless,” Holster sighs, when Bitty takes hold of his hand after dinner. Ransom is lively discussing a few practice drills in front of them with Nursey and Dex, obviously trying to mediate whatever problem they’re having with it.

Bitty only squeezes his hand in return and smiles up at him sympathetically.

“Yeah, I noticed, but I figured you could use the extra support anyway,” and Holster wishes he could say he doesn’t. But he’s a large boy with a large amount of emotions, as Bitty himself has coined him, so that would be lying to himself and Bitty both. He’d had a bunch of possible expectations running through his head, when they initially set this thing in motion, but Ransom’s almost tangible anger had never been one. It had hurt. A lot. To see his best friend that angry at him without even knowing why. He knows anyone in their right mind would at least demand an explanation, give him some cold shoulder treatment and/or hold a grudge. 

He was planning on it, yesterday evening, hiding the extent of his sadness in Bitty’s shirt.  
Of all things, crashing Bitty’s Skype date with Jack had been the thing to whip him back in shape. Jack, stuttering and uncomfortable, had tried to give him a piece of advice regarding emotional intelligence. With such an endearing blush and the cutest nudges in the right direction by Bitty, it had left Holster with tears in his eyes. When Jack tried to revert the conversation back to hockey, his cheeks still pink, Holster hadn’t been able to hold back a laugh. There was more affection and depth to Jack Zimmermann than he’d ever expected. He’d thanked Jack again, for letting him “borrow” Bitty and that had startled a laugh out of Jack. The advice had boiled down to the fact that Jack would have rather had Bitty as his friend than not in his life at all and with both Ransom and him really emotional, it’d be a shame to drift apart, to lose that.

Holster isn’t sure they could, but he also isn’t sure whether his heart would be able to take it, to just fall back into the old routine immediately. When he snuck in the attic in the morning however and saw Ransom cuddle with his back pack, imprints of it in his arms and face, his resolve had melted. He stood there, lost for words for a moment, before beginning with a “Bro..” without knowing where his sentence was going. Probably in the direction of a love declaration, which would not have been ideal. An oath of loyalty, a little extreme, but not outside their thing necessarily. He settled for a firm, short hug. Willed himself not to tear up from being this close to his best friend again after that crazy day, savoured the feeling of his sleepy friend cuddling him back.

They go about their days the way they always do: lunch with plenty of bro-y touching, non-stop texting during their classes and a magical afternoon practice. The entire team’s alive with energy and excitement for tomorrow’s home game. Ransom and he prepare a kegster worthy of the game it’s bound to be. Bitty’s there with hugs and hand holding when he sees that he’s not having his greatest moment.

He has a coffee date with Bits the morning of their game. He’s not really sure how to go about breaking up with your pretend boyfriend, but he figures it can’t differ that much from the norm. He pays for Bitty’s unpronounceable drink and chirps him for not letting him take any baked goods, because there’ll be plenty at the kegster tonight. 

“Bits.. We need to talk,” He says when they sit down, tries to master the constipated expression most movie actors wear in this moment.

Bitty almost giggles and Holster glares.

“I.. It’s not you, it’s me,” Holster continues, as dramatic as possible, clutching one of Bitty’s hands in his.

“Is there somebody else?” Bitty gasps, mock hurt colouring his voice as he clutches his heart. They both wince and Bitty blushes, but Holster’s quick to reassure.

“Hopefully soon. Best way to get over someone, right?” He quips, going for nonchalance, but missing by a mile.

“.. is to get under someone,” Bitty mumbles, nodding.

“Well, I for one think you’ll have your pick with boys tonight now that they’ve realised they’ve got a shot with you, too,” Bitty continues, winking at him. 

They pose for a selfie where they’re both fake crying and Snapchat it to Jack with the caption “Broke up :’( :’(“ He responds with a picture of the Falcs’ rink and a “Tragic. Don’t let it mess with the game!” which leaves both Holster and Bitty in giggles.

They don’t let it mess with the game. The opposing team is pretty physical, but Holster’s vouched to himself to protect Bitty from them however he can. He’s not an easy target for checks and the first few he catches for Bitty were aimed to hurt a Bitty sized person, so he skates those off fairly easily. Some bruising, nothing he can’t deal with.

The second period however, they’ve started targeting Bitty the way they would target him and Holster really can’t have that. He starts taking dirtier, more painful checks. It’s starting to take him a second or two to compose himself after every check. Ransom yells at him in the break between second and third period. He gets Nursey and Dex to convince him that those are checks that could do real damage to Bitty if they let them through. Nursey points out they’ve been taking them all game, too. Before Dex looks at him pointedly and says “You have been, you dumb masochist. I’m here, too, you know,” in his famous deadpan, which makes Nursey blush. 

Head still reeling from watching their #28’s infamous chill disperse so easily, he’s not really paying attention to Ransom’s scolding. He’s not gonna be able to stop him and Holster’s not actually going to get hurt. He tells him as much and Ransom clenches and unclenches his jaw.

“What? You having your boyfriend’s back is okay, but me trying to have my partner’s one isn’t? Hadn’t expected this to mess with your game, bro,” Ransom spits at Holster, before skating away. Holster’s a little baffled. They’re leading with 3-1. He’s had Ransom’s back all night and Ransom has had his, in their zone. He’s just been skating extra to have Bitty’s. He’s not letting up on anything he’s supposed to do. And it’s not him being a good boyfriend, it’s him being a good fucking captain. He skates over to Ransom and tells him as much. Ransom just huffs and shoves him a little. 

The third period is ridiculously brutal. The opposing team seem to have accepted that they’re not going to win this the legal way, so they seem to have decided that they prefer an illegal win to a legal loss. Holster’s anger is the only thing allowing him to be everywhere at once. One of the dirtier checks get him sprawled out on the ice and his helmet knocked off. He’s disoriented for a moment, but it’s long enough for the douchebag in ownership of the puck to send it flying to his cheekbone. He hears a sickening crunch and he feels the warmth of blood flood his face. He bites down hard on his mouth guard, spits some blood, grits his teeth and gets up. 

He skates over to the bench, supported by whomever was closest to him- Bitty, he notes, because of his posture and his soft, reassuring grip on Holster- and demands Hall’s attention.

“Ransom out, Nursey and Dex in! We can’t..” Another mouthful of blood spit out “We can’t have Bitty out there on the ice with these maniacs without someone who actively has his back and Nurse does,” He finishes and the iron taste of the blood that’s streamed into his mouth makes him feel a little lightheaded. 

He hears a short “Poindexter! Nurse! You’re up! Oluransi, OUT!” from Hall, followed by a grumbling “Not alone, you got it, you fucker?” from Dex and a slightly less smug than usual “The only reason I can, is because you’ve got mine, Dexy,” from a Nursey who he feels tracking his every move. 

Bitty hugs him tight to him at the edge of the ice and he feels everything around him sway. Luckily, a trainer’s already rushing towards him and catches him when he’s about to go down. She places him on an examination table carefully and gives him a cloth to press to the wound to stop the blood from flowing. The shaking of his hand makes it a tougher job than usual, but with his other hand on top he manages.

He’s so angry, too. If anyone’s letting anything mess with his game, it’s Ransom. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear, he thinks grimly when seconds after, he hears angry pounding down the hall and Ransom storms in. He takes one look at his face and he sees he’s shaking with anger again, in the way he had been two days before and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear it. 

He closes his eyes and waits. He feels Ransom move to his side, feels the anger vibrating of him. Holster sighs and opens his eyes again. Ransom’s hands are hovering next to his face and he has a look in his eyes that’s hard to decipher. Which is ridiculous. This is Ransom. Holster knows every experience his face has. Or at least he thought so.

“Let me see,” Ransom grits out through clenched teeth. He encloses Holster’s both hands with one of his, as if he’s going to make him show by force, but thought better of it.

“You want me to bleed to death?” Holster responds jokingly and Ransom’s hand tightens on his.

Ransom sighs, shakes his head. He searches the rest of Holster, frustrated that he’s still in gear.

“All of you being this damaged isn’t worth it,” Ransom pushes “isn’t worth anything,” He adds, so quiet Holster isn’t sure he was supposed to hear. Isn’t sure how to respond anyway. He’s supposed to be angry at Ransom and it’s hard when he’s being this vulnerable and soft.

“Maybe it is to me,” Holster spits out, the force of him pushing Ransom’s hand away leaving the press on the cloth unstable, leaking blood. Holster curses, presses it back on with both hands. Ransom turns away, swallows hard. Holster can only see his face in profile, sees his Adam’s apple work, his eyebrows scrunched up, one balled fist (he’s sure the other one’s balled, too, Ransom doesn’t do anything by halves).

“Well, if you’re so disgusted by it,” Holster sneers, his own heart aching, because he knows it’s not true. “There’s the door. Go ride out the post win high with March, huh? My kegster tonight will be a shot or two of painkillers and the buzzing and hustling of a hospital under bright LED lights,” He spits at his best friend, hands trembling, hurting him just enough extra to piss him off royally.

Ransom turns back to him, clenched jaw, eyes attempting to glare, but an expression in them Holster is, yet again, unable to identify. He’s already pretty done with everything this day has thrown his way. 

“If you want me to leave, I’ll leave,” Ransom says after a few moments of tense silence. Which is dumb, too, Holster thinks, their silences are nothing but agreeable and comfortable. Ever. 

He really wishes he had a hand free to swing it at his best friend, though he’s sure there wouldn’t be much force behind it. Leave it up to him to leave it up to Holster. He’d probably stand here, seething his way through first aid, the ambulance ride, the scans and his final diagnosis. Holster’s too tired for that, so he just nods and closes his eyes. 

He’s stomping his way out of the room, when Holster hears Ransom pause. He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t see the slumped set of Ransom’s shoulder, the trembling of his bottom lip and hands.

“Holtz.. Just.. Let me know the verdict, eh? Please?” He asks, voice all soft and vulnerable again and Holster hates and loves him. Misses him already and wants him to leave. Mostly wants them to get out of this fucking funk.

First aid hurts like a bitch. The hospital’s even worse, but at least he’s allowed his phone. They stitch him up and the scans come out okay. Clean crack in his cheekbone which should heal fine on its own, but might give him some headaches straight from Hell. He’s cleared to play, when he’s already not sure anymore what’s happening. Loopy from the pain killers and how tired he is. It’s a miracle he has the good sense to call Bitty to come pick him up instead of Ransom. 

When Bitty enters, Holster’s rambling to the nurse.

“We broke up this very morning, Linda, this very morning! And yet here he is, being a model boyfriend, my ex-fake boyfriend!” He beams at Bitty and winces less than a second after. 

Linda doesn’t seem to notice, nodding along with him. “They don’t make ‘em like that anymore, no, they don’t,” She says in a conspirational whisper, patting Holster on the back. She helps support Holster back to the car, because “He’s so tiny, Linda, I don’t want to break him! His real boyfriend can break me, too, you know,” to which both Linda and Bitty laugh wholeheartedly. 

“You okay?” Bitty asks him the second Linda closes the door of the passenger seat. Holster grins and waves at her a second more, before turning to Bitty.

“Well, let’s see,” Holster says, stroking his chin in mock thought. He sighs and holds up a finger “I fucked up probably every body part I have and some muscles I didn’t know I had today, including fucking up my cheekbone, which is really one of the main things I’ve got going for me facewise, Bits,” He holds up a second finger “My best friend was a rage monster the day before yesterday for no apparent reason, then he goes back to normal, then during the game he goes full rage monster again and in the training room he went all rage monster-soft puppy-rage monster-soft puppy, the dude’s giving me emotional whiplash,” He thunks his head against the head rest a couple times dramatically, before his head starts throbbing. He holds up a third finger “I can’t even celebrate the beauty of a game I played at the beauty of a kegster I planned, because of complaint one,” He whined, wiggling his first finger in Bitty’s face. A fourth finger popped up “I dragged you away from said beaut of a kegster, because I couldn’t stomach the idea of seeing Ransom, was too scared of what I might say all drugged up,” He finished, quiet and unsure with eyes shining with tears.

Holster whips out his phone then, remembering Ransom’s request. His fingers hover over the text conversation with “Ransypoo”, but he sighs and goes for “A second home with more dongs” instead. 

“Stitches. Clean crack of cheekbone. Cleared to play. See u on the ice, fuckers!” Bitty’s taken it out of his hands before he’s able to hit send. He hums thoughtfully, nods and then clicks send himself. He hands it back to Holster as it begins to vibrate with responses. Holster sighs and turns it off, pocketing it. 

“You’re sleeping with me again,” Bitty says then, eyes on the road, but holding out his right index finger, before Holster can so much as open his mouth. Impressive.  
“You’re lucid. You’re hurt and you feel like shit. The best I can do for you right now is supervise you and cuddle you. So I’m going to,” He continues, gripping the steering wheel tighter as if he’s gearing up for a fight.

“I really like the Bittle way of doing things,” Holster answers, nuzzling his face in Bitty’s shoulder over the console, because he’s huge enough for things like that. 

He cries that night, wets Bitty’s shirt. He gets introduced to Señor Bunny and is cuddled by both the rabbit and its owner. He’d like to say it makes him feel better and it does, but only marginally. Because he hasn’t bothered to check, but he’s sure there’s a jock strap dangling from the attic door and whatever Ransom might be going through with him, he has someone he’s in love with he can turn to. 

His throat dry and his voice croaky from sobbing, he lists the reasons Ransom deserves as much to Bitty.

“He works so hard and yeah, he likes the way he looks, but he doesn’t realise just how breathtaking he is. He’s fucking magic at everything he does, Bits.. But he’s not magic. He’s a person who needs to be supported just like any other person and here I am, robbing him off that support, because I’m fucking selfish. It’s like I said it would be, Bits, isn’t it?”

Bitty strokes his hair and holds him tighter to him.

“You deserve that, too, you know?” He says and Holster wishes he had a reply, but he doesn’t.

-

He was told to wait out their practice the following day, so Bitty gently nudges him out of the way when he leaves, but lets him sleep. When he wakes up a couple hours later, he has sixteen minutes to make it to his first class of the day. The first movement of anything he attempts, is horrible. So is the second and every single one that follows, but he drags himself out of bed and up the stairs, because Ransom’s in class and he needs a couple of seconds under hot water. The bruising around his cheekbone has transgressed into a full black eye and the cut looks awful. Every single surface of his body is bruised and he clutches the sink for a moment and bites his lip to stop himself from crying. Instead, he puts on a long sleeved shirt and pair of pants and heads to class. Once there, he’s interrupted two words into his hurried and (to the best of his abilities) whispered explanation of the situation by a phone shoved into his face, flashing the newest update of the Daily’s website. The headliner is “Co-captain of SMH: heart of gold, bruised blue body” and there’s a picture of him making his way from the ice to the trainers room, half his face covered in blood and obviously supported by the trainers next to him. It’s not pretty. 

“Well, that’s a bad angle, isn’t it?” He tells his friend, a joking glint in his eyes, half a smirk in place, before he settles in his seat and opens his syllabus. He feels a head ache forming already as he accepts praises left and right from people who are entering the auditorium. He keeps tacking on that they won, that his team won, but that goes widely unacknowledged.

He comes home to Ransom sitting at the desk and glaring up at him as soon as he enters. He raises his hands in surrender and turns on his heels. He has all he needs for his homework anyway and he’d like some fresh air. He hunts down an empty picnic table on the quad and settles on it, dimming the brightness when his head once again starts to hurt. He puts on his ear phones after the fifth person who asks about his face and stares as intently as possible at his screen.

Until a familiar smell wafts over him and Ransom drops in the seat opposite him. His eyes are soft and kind again, the pools of molten dark chocolate Holster knows and loves and it’s a little much, his head’s strained enough without emotional whiplash 2.0, so he looks at his screen again.

“Fine, don’t look at me, your brightness is dimmed, so I’m sure you’re not actually listening to anything, because it’d hurt your head,” Ransom says and he sounds so tired Holster kind of wants to wrap him up in a blanket and give him a mug of tea and let him do all the examining he needs to do to feel better.

“You are not listening to anything, right? Because it would be bad for you. Actually it’s probably not even a good idea for you to be on your computer right now,” He says and it’s the wise-guy tone again, the one that makes it easier to remember he’s mad. Ransom slams a hand on the table, which.. Honestly, Rans? And glares at him before reaching over to him and it takes Holster embarassingly long to realise he’s going after his laptop.

Petulantly, he snatches it back, gets up from his place and holds it above his head. Ransom continues his brisk pace, coming around the table to glower up at him where Holster’s pressed against a tree now. One ear bud ripped out when he lifted the laptop above his head and its swinging back and forth and both of their chests heaving is the only thing happening and Holster feels like he’s frozen in time. 

Ransom’s eyes seem to darken, but Holster has been in this position before, so he sternly tells himself that it’s a trick of the light and lightly shoves his best friend away. His best friend, who’d been staring at him so intently that he fell back, because of his little push. In a flash, Holster’s laptop is between his knees and he’s wrapped both his hands around Ransom’s forearms. Ransom lets him take his entire weight for a few seconds and it’s so reminiscent of the dumb trust exercises the coaches sometimes make them do that Holster finds himself giggling. They’re being idiots, he decides. As the elder, he’ll be the bigger person. Fine. Whatever.

When Ransom regains balance, Holster lets go of his forearms and pulls Ransom in by the shoulders instead. They cling to each other, hands gripping arms, shoulders, necks, before Holster whispers “I would never not catch you, dude,” before giggling again. It’s funny, okay, because he fell for Ransom like a goddamn brick and he definitely wasn’t there to catch him. But it’s not his fault. 

Ransom rubs his eyes furiously when they pull away and tells him, more stern than Holster’s ever heard him. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for my behaviour. I’ve been a shitty,” He holds up his hands, before Holster can interject.

“I have been a shitty friend, Holtzy, regardless of your opinion on the matter. I was a dick, but I recognise that I was and I promise not to be one anymore. Am I still your best friend?” 

And he looks so nervous about it, wringing his hands together and avoiding eye contact, that Holster giggles again, a little watery this time.

Holster pulls him back in again, clings to him like he’s the only thing tethering him to Earth and he kind of is. He’d feel bad about it if Ransom wasn’t holding him close with at least as much force. 

“Always, moron,” Holster whispers in the crook of Ransom’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Wohow, in the spirit of throwing things on the internet I'm insecure about and which therefore stress me out, I present you this. 
> 
> b) My life's a total shitfest at the moment, so the next might be more of a forthnight than the promised week, but the outline's there! 
> 
> c) No, despite that, I will not let this format of chapter notes go. I hope you enjoyed this. If you did, let me know- you have no idea how much it makes a girl's day. (Or you do if you're a fic writer yourself)
> 
> d) Have a nice day/night!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!
> 
> a) This is NOT canon compliant anymore, because Zimbits are out to the team (which- awesome!)
> 
> b) I will update this at least weekly, because most of it's outlined (yay!)
> 
> c) Let me know what you think!
> 
> d) No, I can't write w/o background Nurseydex (and in this case Zimbits, too)
> 
> e) Schooners!Holster, yes!!!!
> 
> f) Let me know what you think! 
> 
> g) Hit me up with prompts (nurseydex/holsom) on Tumblr (wwwinteriscoming, too)
> 
> h) Have a nice day!


End file.
